


Rote

by heartstrickledown



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-08
Updated: 2010-07-08
Packaged: 2017-10-10 11:16:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartstrickledown/pseuds/heartstrickledown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nelly/HJ. Nelly suffocates himself and masturbates while thinking about HJ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rote

  
  
  
  
  
---  
  
Nelly turns off his lamp and begins to undress.

His room is clean, and bare. His peach curtains are pulled back with simple strings made from the same material. Outside there are a few pale blue lamps scattered in the lawn; the light from them is dim enough that he can still see his reflection in the sheer glass of the window.

Nelly balls up his dirty laundry and puts it in his clothes bin.

He pulls one of the strings off a hook. The right side of the curtains succumb to gravity and hang, limp, over the window. Half of his reflection winds the band around his palm.

Inevitably, he wonders what HJ would think of him, fat and lackluster and desperate with loneliness.

He lays on his back and stares at the ceiling, which has little white dots all across it. Dark blue light catches against them, making hundreds of tiny shadows above him. The room is mostly dark. Nelly wriggles out of his underwear, and wonders if he's really in the mood. He could sleep without masturbating.

He could.

Thinking about Sally first is perfunctory, a habit he's never bothered to break: She's kneeling over him, hips entirely too wide, hands entirely too soft when they close at his throat.

He unwinds the string from his hand and loops it around his throat, and moves on from the image: HJ is walking in; HJ says a few words to Sally; they change places. Nelly knows exactly how his weight would feel, warm and hard on his stomach as HJ transitioned the rope from his neck to Nelly's. It would tighten on his throat until it was difficult to breathe, and the spike of fear would lash up in tempo with intrinsic trust.

A loose double-knot will do. There's no point if there's not some sense of danger.

Nelly sucks sharp little breaths through his mouth and slips his hand over his chest. By the time his hand is between his thighs, he's dizzy and half-hard and he's not alone; HJ is on top of him, is working his gloved hand up and down his length, heavy and slow. Little white sparks jump behind Nelly's closed eyes and he slides a finger between the string and his neck. _Not so fast,_ he thinks, and swipes his thumb rhythmically across the head of his swelling dick.

After a few deep lungfuls of air, he moves the finger away and pinches his nipple; then, because he'd done it too gently, twists it. He grunts in pain, but he's hard now, so that when he rolls back the foreskin from his head he can feel slick moisture beading there.

His lungs are reacting instinctively to the pressure at his throat, so each needy breath sucked in has the edge of a whine to it. He wants to pull off the string, so he doesn't, the edges of fear turning over lust.

Nelly spreads his knees and imagines HJ between them. He sweeps his hand from one nipple to the other and the bare skin is almost clothed instead. He picks up the pace of his jerks. Nelly never lasted long like this.

When he opens his eyes to gauge how he's doing, the room wavers. _Doing fine._ He shuts them again and the bed tilts.

"Rolf," he chokes out. He likes the weak sound of his voice, so he moans, wasting breath. Briefly, he thinks he's going to faint. It passes; he arches off the bed, digging his toes against the sheets, and yelps because he can't manage much more than that.

His orgasm hits and he wheezes through it, rubbing himself just a little too rough, scraping his short fingernails under the head so it'll hurt in the morning. Before it's passed in its entirety, he fumbles off the string and sucks in long, cool breaths of air. He moans them out, to make the short waves of tension last a little bit longer. It mostly works.

Nelly slumps back onto the mattress, pointedly undignified and sweaty. He thinks he may have blacked out for a minute or two, because he blinks and like that he's hyper-aware of his semen, running up his stomach in little pools. When he sits up, his sheets stick to his lower-back; they peel away with a burst of chilled air. It makes him feel a little better, if not any less childish.

He fixes his curtains, makes his bed, and slides under the covers. He's still not quite caught his breath by the time he falls asleep, and because of that, he tells himself it was enough.  



End file.
